Pauses in Solitude
by Wldwmn
Summary: It all starts with the end of one investigation, and ends with the beginning of a new state of affairs. Murder, romance, angst, mystery… something for everyone, I hope. Multi chap, casefic-esque, Jisbon. Rated T for language, violence, and adult references.
1. Another Ending

**Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with CBS or "The Mentalist".**

**Summary: It all starts with the end of one investigation, and ends with the beginning of a new state of affairs. Murder, romance, angst, mystery… something for everyone, I hope. Multi chap, casefic-esque, Jisbon. Rated T for language, violence, and adult references.**

**Author's Note: Hi all! It's been a while since I posted anything, and even longer since I started a long and involved multi-chap. This is an ambitious undertaking for me, as I am working full time now. Couple that fact with a more complex plot than I have previously attempted, including a main case that is actually featured in great detail, and it could get pretty crazy around here! **

**Yes, this story is still heavy on the Jane/Lisbon goodness. Yes, there's a reason this is tagged as both "Romance" and "Crime"; please don't be shocked by the inclusion of either. This prologue is fairly short, and mainly set-up.**

**Pauses in Solitude**

**Prologue: Another Ending**

"**Solitude, word carved upon my heart…"**

**Marisa Monte, "Dance of Solitude"**

It had been one of… _those_ cases.

Not, Lisbon thought with a shake of her head, not one of the worst ones. Not a Red John case, thank goodness. But it was the next worst.

A string of child murders, and the last victim dead for only minutes when the team arrived. Amy Swift, a sweet, innocent little girl with long blonde curls. Lisbon could feel the waves of misery from Jane as they'd stood over the tiny body, and no wonder.

He'd been in top form, and they'd solved the mystery and caught the bad guy (a janitor in the local elementary school, as it turned out) and closed the case. They'd done their best, every single member of the team. But the sorrow of not making it in time to save Amy weighed heavily on them all.

Somehow, in keeping with the dismal emotions, the dusty little town they were marooned in for the evening managed to provide no decent pizza to speak of. They had to settle for closed-case Chinese instead, a substitution perhaps fitting for a case that was closed but didn't really feel like a success.

Conversation was sparse, and everyone kept his or her contributions forcibly light. As much as possible, anyway. No one was in a hurry to deal with the events of the case anymore, at least not that evening.

"I'm stuffed," said Rigsby, towards the end of the evening. "Where are the fortune cookies?"

Van Pelt snickered involuntarily. "Same old Wayne. 'I'm so full, where's more food?' Still just like working with a caterpillar."

Cho didn't comment, but Lisbon noticed the slight smile tugging at his lips. "I've got them over by me, Rigs. There's one for each of us," she said, tossing them across the table. She then glanced down towards the end. "You want one, Jane?" she asked him quietly.

Jane had remained uncharacteristically silent all evening, staring up at the brightly colored Chinese lanterns that hung from the ceiling and barely picking at his food. No one had asked him what was wrong, though. They all knew.

At Lisbon's question, however, he looked up. "Hmm? Oh. Yes, I'd like mine. I'm not very hungry, but the fortune's the important part, anyway."

"Absolutely," she agreed, passing him the last one.

They all cracked theirs open. Cho was first to read his fortune aloud. "It says 'Your bright smile brings happiness to everyone around you'," he deadpanned. "Always the same old fortunes."

Lisbon bit her lip to keep from laughing, as did nearly everyone sitting at the table. Cho's current dour expression was about as far from a bright smile as you could get.

Rigsby was next. "Hmm, mine says 'Children are a comfort in old age'. Does it still apply while I'm under 35?" Everyone grinned and dutifully looked once more at the picture on Rigsby's phone of his baby son.

Van Pelt colored slightly and said 'I think I got the worst one. It says 'To let true love remain unspoken is the quickest way to a heavy heart'." She very deliberately avoided making eye contact with Rigsby, and he did the same.

Lisbon groaned inwardly. Those two. Every time she thought that situation had finally been resolved, it cropped up again.

Lisbon opened hers and read "This is what mine says: 'Today is a lucky day for those who remain cheerful and optimistic'. Well, I guess I'm screwed," she grumbled, but perked up at Jane's gentle chuckle. "Something funny, Jane?"

He shrugged. "Maybe a little. You're so pessimistic sometimes. Even about being optimistic. There's something inherently humorous in that, I think."

Even if the chuckle was at her expense, she let it slide. After all, it was the first time she'd seen him smile in days. "What's yours say, Jane?" she asked.

"Nothing special," Jane replied. "It reads: 'If you're still hungry, have another fortune cookie.' Weakest of the bunch, in my opinion."

"Oh I don't know," Lisbon countered. "It's almost refreshingly direct after all the platitudes and clichés."

Jane sighed. "You may have a point. In any case, I'm going back to my motel room. I know you want to start back to Sacramento early tomorrow, and there's always a chance I'll get a little sleep if I catch myself by surprise. Goodnight all."

Each team member mumbled their goodnights to Jane, but their eyes flicked over to Lisbon as she watched him walk away. "You going after him, boss?" Van Pelt asked after a moment.

"No," Lisbon said quickly. "Why would I?"

Van Pelt shrugged. "Well, he's in one of his moods again, and I guess you just had that look. He won't talk to any of us about it, you know. But he might talk to you."

Lisbon shook her head. "I don't think he would. Jane's very… reserved about this area. Just let him be. He should be back to his old self in the morning."

But he wasn't.

The trip back to the CBI HQ was unusual, to say the least. Normally there would be some friendly chatter amongst the whole team, and a near-constant running commentary from Jane. And all of it interspersed with occasional tuneless singing from Rigsby (he had a fine voice, but almost always lost the melody with his ear buds in). This time, the silence in the vehicle was almost deafening.

And as much as Lisbon appreciated a little peace and quiet sometimes, there was nothing peaceful about Jane's complete unwillingness to talk. Truthfully, it was making her a little nervous.

###

Back at the CBI, it just continued. After two days, Lisbon had had enough. Late in the evening that Friday, she went to where Jane was sitting motionless on his leather couch, nursing a cup of tea. "Well?" she asked pointedly.

Jane looked up and raised an eyebrow at her, a shadow of his usual playfulness emerging. "Well what?

She took a deep breath. "Well, are you ready to talk yet?"

His eyes drifted closed at her question. "Not really, but thank you for asking." He sat that way for another moment, obviously waiting for her to say goodnight and leave. When she didn't, he opened his eyes and looked up at her again. "It's late, Lisbon, even for you. Why don't you head home, and we'll see each other in the morning?"

Lisbon sighed heavily. "I know what time it is, Jane. Look," she began, and paused as discomfort washed over her. She hated to push him when it came to this. "I know this last case did no good for your peace of mind," she began, leaning back against a desk and folding her arms.

He shifted uneasily before he spoke. "No, I can't say that it did," he answered honestly.

"Not that it did for any of us, but especially you. But giving the whole world the silent treatment while you wallow doesn't solve anything. At least talk about it to _somebody_," she pleaded.

Jane frowned. "I don't want to talk about it to somebody, Lisbon. Frankly, I'm **sick** of talking about it. I could say it over and over again and it doesn't change a thing. It doesn't help."

"Then maybe you're talking to the wrong people. I'm hardly the poster child for successful interactions with therapists-"

"True," he interjected with a smile.

"But maybe a psychologist could help you. Really. Give you a fresh take on the situation as it is now, as opposed to when it had just… happened." Lisbon watched as he calmly shook his head in response. "I'm serious, Jane."

"I know you are, and I appreciate your concern. But I don't want to go through all of this with _another_ stranger. And I don't need more therapy, Lisbon," he said with a sigh. "Sometimes what I need is something that not even my best friend can give me."

"Really, and what is that?" she asked.

"Solitude."

Lisbon bit her tongue before she said the first words that came to her mind. –Haven't you spent _enough_ time alone?- she thought, but she didn't say it.

"I know what you're thinking, that I spend too much time alone as it is," he said, picking the thought from her head with practiced ease. "But for me, spending time with people can get very tiring after a while. All of their business written on their faces, waiting to be read. Sometimes I get a little sick of learning everyone's secrets."

Lisbon had to chuckle. "Okay, that's something I never thought I'd hear you say. You're the nosiest man I've ever met, and I'm a cop. We're professionally nosy, and you still distinguish yourself in that sense."

The eyebrow went up again. "I'm not sure if you meant that as a compliment or not."

"I'm not sure if I did either, so we're equally confused. But maybe a professional-"

"Enough, Lisbon. You're starting to talk in circles, which means you're tired and you need to rest. This place will still be here in the morning, you know. It doesn't evaporate when you walk out the door."

She hated when he did that, turned things around and made them about her. "You ought to know," Lisbon replied sharply, going on the defensive in spite of herself. "You're one of the few people left here when I leave."

"That's right, so you should take my word for it. Go on, go home," he chided.

Lisbon gave up, albeit only temporarily. "Fine," she grumbled. "Goodnight, Jane."

"Goodnight, Lisbon," he replied, setting down his cup of now-cold tea and stretching out on the couch. He closed his eyes and exhaled loudly.

She was silent as she went back to her office. She gathered up her things and shut down her computer. But as she walked past him going back out through the bullpen, Lisbon couldn't help saying one more thing. "Jane?"

He was lying down now, and didn't move. But his eyes opened when he responded "Yes?"

"If you ever need someone to talk to… someone to trust, it can always be me. You do know that, don't you?" she asked gently. "Goodnight again."

She got as far as the doorway to the kitchenette when he called after her. "Lisbon?"

She turned around. "Yes?"

Lisbon watched as Jane sat up, and indicated the cushion next to him. "Have a seat, would you?"

Lisbon smiled gently at him as she walked back towards the couch.

**TBC… for those of you with a keen eye and a good memory, you may recognize Van Pelt's cookie fortune as coming from the movie "Sky High".**


	2. Surprised by the Facts

**Disclaimer: I do not own "The Mentalist"; no copyright infringement is intended.**

**A/N: Thank you so much for all of your reviews and follows, I really appreciate every single one! This chapter starts the main- and sub-plots in earnest, and is a mixture of both. Contains several spoilers/references to events in the season 4 finale and early season 5; rated T for mentions of violence.**

**Pauses in Solitude**

**Chapter One: Surprised by the Facts**

"**Courage does not always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying 'I will try again tomorrow'."**

**Mary Anne Radmacher**

Once Lisbon sat down, Jane almost immediately got up again. She looked at him quizzically. "Where are you going?" she asked, as he started walking away.

"To put on a fresh pot for tea," he called back over his shoulder. "Would you like some?"

She nodded and watched him walk to the kitchenette. After a moment, she could hear the water running, followed by the soft clunk of the teakettle hitting the burner. He was humming tunelessly under his breath, clearly focused on what he was doing. And just as clearly not making any effort to hurry back to the couch.

She wasn't really that surprised; it obviously took so much out of him just to call her back. Maybe a few moments of methodical routine would calm him down. Maybe then he'd be able to talk to her.

Lisbon heard him fixing the tea, the slight tinkle of the spoon as he stirred each cup carrying out to her in the all-but-empty office. Afterwards, the silence crept back, but he still hadn't returned. "Jane?" she called.

"It's all right, I'm still here," he answered, and she heard the smile in his voice. "Did you think I'd slipped away?"

"With you, I never know," she muttered without thinking, and then instantly hoped he hadn't heard her. She stared at the floor, her eyes following the lines of the hardwood until his worn brown shoes came into view. She looked up then, and the slightly guilty look on his face when he handed her a cup told her that he had heard. Damn.

But all he said at first was "I know you don't usually care for Lapsang Souchong…"

"No, too smoky," she confirmed.

"So I did you a simple Gunpowder Green. That alright?"

"Yes, thank you," she said, reaching out to grasp the saucer. "So… what would you like to talk about?"

He regarded her closely for a moment. "Poor Lisbon," he finally said. "I guess my six-month absence didn't help you any with your abandonment issues. Some friend I am, hmm?"

Lisbon shook her head. "I'm doing okay, Jane. The point of this wasn't to address _my_ issues, either."

"We could talk about them though, if you wanted," he pressed. "We never really discussed it and I know it bothered you."

"Of course it bothered me!" she snapped. "My best friend ran off for six months, trying to act out a plan he hadn't shared with me, and left me alone! How did you think it would make me feel?"

"Terrible. And I'm sorry I hurt you, truly. I know I did it anyway, but that doesn't mean I'm not sorry," he admitted, with no trace of falseness to his voice. "But I didn't leave you alone! The team was here."

"Yes, I had the team," she agreed grudgingly, then paused. "But I wanted you." The last words sounded strangled, almost like a guilty admission, and the color rose slightly in her cheeks. She hadn't meant it to come out like that. Or maybe she had.

"I really am sorry," he said again, as he sat down next to her. "I missed you too, you know. I read and re-read every one of your texts. I probably listened to your voicemails 20 times, just to hear your voice. I know you couldn't tell from your end, but-"

"Enough, Jane," she said, cutting him off. "You're not using my hurt feelings as another excuse to beat yourself up. At least, not right in front of me."

He gave her half a grin. "I guess I should stop committing ever more offenses to feel guilty about then, is that it?"

"If I were you, I'd consider it," Lisbon said, and sighed. "As for the rest, I've already come to terms with it and forgiven you. It doesn't mean I'm not still a little sad and a little mad, but I understand." She was quiet for a moment before continuing. "I know you had your reasons. You did it for your family."

"No, I didn't."

"What?" she immediately said in a shocked tone.

"Lisbon, I've had some… intense introspection opportunities lately. I know I've been telling everyone including myself for years that I'm doing it all for my wife and daughter, but the fact is… they're gone." Jane stopped and took a shaky breath. "And wherever anyone believes they've gone _to_, nowhere, everywhere, Heaven, Hell… nobody can help them or hurt them anymore. I'm the one who needs the peace that will come from the end of Red John."

Lisbon shrugged. "It still sounds basically the same to me, Jane, whether I agree with it or not. You feel you deserve revenge for your family's murder. You're doing it for them."

"No, Lisbon, I'm doing it **because** of them. But I'm doing it **for** myself. That's the distinction. I guess I've never wanted to put it like that, because it shows that I haven't changed at all. I'm still the same selfish man that I was before they died," he finished unhappily.

"I don't believe that," she said quickly. "I don't believe for a minute that anyone could go through what you have and still be the same exact person on the other side."

He gave her an impatient look. "Semantics, Lisbon, really?"

She sighed and put down her teacup, then shifted slightly to face him. "No one's perfect, Jane. And your antics and self-involvement still get on my nerves, but they don't necessarily worry me like they used to."

"Well, that's good to know," he quipped, but she shushed him.

"What actually worries me, Jane, is how reckless you get when it comes to Red John, how careless you are about your own life. Because one day that case will be closed: don't you want to be alive to see that? Alive to experience that 'peace' you just mentioned?"

"Would that be preferable? Of course. But I'll do whatever it takes when it comes to myself, Lisbon. Besides, once you've accepted that you'll never be happy again in life, death loses a lot of the fear associated with it."

That statement brought Lisbon up short. "Honestly, you don't sound like your head is in a good place, Jane. Maybe you should see a doctor, get your… emotional state stabilized."

He shook his head again. "You're thinking of clinical depression, my dear, and chemical imbalances in the brain. This is despair; there is no magic pill for curing it."

"All right, Jane. There are some wounds I know I can't heal," she admitted. "I can be your friend, and lend you an ear. But there are things I can't undo. I can't change the past, or bring your family back to life."

He took a sip from his cup before replying. "We're just talking, Lisbon. I'm not asking you to do any of those things."

"I just want you to have a little hope, Jane, just a little. Someday you could find someone who'd be good for you, someone who you'd love and who'd love you back. And you would be happy again; at least, as much as anyone is."

"You really believe that, don't you?" he asked her softly, and there was a sense of wonder in his tone. "You really believe there could be a happy ending after everything that's happened."

"Bad things happen to everyone, Jane, and we all do our best to live well in spite of them. Well, almost all of us," she added, giving him a scowl.

"What's that pronouncement supposed to mean?"

"It means you've made no effort to really move on personally. You've shied away from most relationships and genuine intimacy; you don't even date."

Jane made a face. "Lisbon, I have no plans on entering the dating scene ever again. Being the creepy old single man at the club? That's distasteful AND depressing," he whined, but the twinkle in his eye let her know he was mostly just teasing her.

"Oh for goodness' sake! I'm not suggesting that you should start hitting the bars every night trolling for a living hot-water bottle!" Lisbon snapped, rising to the bait. "I'm just –"

"Lisbon," he interrupted. "I've had my happiness. I had a family who I loved. I lost sight of what was important long enough for them to be taken away. The end. I don't get another shot." He paused, and tapped his chest over his heart. "Angela and Charlotte are still here, you know, and there they'll stay. Would it be fair to ask any woman to accept that into the bargain, along with me?"

Lisbon was silent for a while, apparently deep in thought. And when she answered his question, it was with another question. "Do you know how much older I am than my eldest brother?"

Jane was confused, but answered her anyway. "Actually, no I don't."

"Five years, Jane. I was an only child for five years, and then boom boom boom, my mother had my three brothers in quick succession."

"Wow."

"Yeah, things got a little… crazy in the Lisbon house for a while. I went from having all of the attention to much less, and I didn't like it. So I started acting out. They had to pay attention to me when I was bad."

Jane shrugged. "That's not uncommon, from what I hear. So what happened?"

"Well, one time when my dad had the day off, my mom got him to wrangle the boys for the afternoon, and she took me aside. It was just the two of us again, and she said 'Teresa, what's wrong?' And instead of answering her, I just climbed into her lap and cried." Jane was watching her intently, secretly reveling in the chance to learn something so personal about her, despite the sadness of the moment in the memory.

She took a deep breath before going on. "When I finally stopped, I asked her 'Mama, do you still love me, or did the boys take my place?' And she smiled and said 'Oh, Teresa, have a little faith in your mother.' She went on to tell me that every time she'd had a child, a new space in her heart formed to keep them. 'You may have to share my heart with your brothers now, Reese, but your place is still yours. It will never belong to anyone else.' And it made me feel better, somehow."

Jane smiled. "I can believe that. It's a very reassuring thing to say." He glanced at the clock. "Good grief, it's 3 in the morning. Have we really been talking that long?"

"I guess so," Lisbon said. "And I think we're going to need to make our usual Saturday breakfast a brunch if we want to get some sleep."

"Agreed," he replied with a nod. He took her empty cup as she stood.

Lisbon slipped on her leather jacket, and then stopped. "Do you know why I told you the story about my mom, Jane?"

"Why don't you tell me."

"I just wanted to give you a chance to think about it. Because it wasn't only my mom who could love without limits, Jane; every human being is like that. And when the right woman comes along, she won't ask for Angela's or Charlotte's place in your heart," she said. She risked reaching out to smooth an errant blond curl from his forehead, and the tenderness of the gesture surprised him. "She'll just want her own place there."

They said their goodnights again, but as he watched her leave Jane realized two things that actually stunned him.

One, that there was unquestionably a place in his heart that wasn't the same as the space that belonged to his family.

Two, that it was Teresa Lisbon who completely and utterly occupied that place.

-Oh **dear**,- he thought, -When did that happen?-

###

Jane had actually managed to fall asleep, and was enduring an odd and pointless dream about going grocery shopping in nothing but a grey wool vest when his cell phone began to buzz. Dazed, he dug it out of his pocket. After peering at the caller ID, he answered. "Lisbon? What's going on? I thought we agreed to move our Saturday breakfast to brunch, and I was actually getting some sleep."

Lisbon's voice came through the tiny speaker, sounding just as tired as his. "I know, Jane, and I'm sorry. I didn't appreciate my 7am wake up call from Sac PD, either."

"Sac PD?" Jane repeated. "You're kidding me."

"I wish," she grumbled. "But murder decided not to take this weekend off, Jane. We've got a case."

"Oh that's just appalling. Can't we let the locals handle it for once?"

He heard her sigh deeply. "Unfortunately, no. The scene crosses the county line into West Sacramento, so we're up. Get yourself together and I'll text you the address."

"All right, all right. See you shortly," he said with a yawn, and hung up.

###

**New Canaan, a suburb of Sacramento straddling the Sacramento/Yolo county line**

Lisbon climbed out of her SUV and rubbed her eyes, conscious of the dark smudges beneath them. She was fairly sure Jane would have a matching set, and she just hoped anyone who noticed didn't draw any suggestive conclusions. He hadn't arrived yet, however, so for now at least she was safe.

The murder scene was halfway down a dead-end alley. Taking a deep breath, she lifted the crime scene tape and walked beneath it. "Okay, Cho," she said wearily as she reached the body. "What do we know so far?"

"Victim's private investigator license identifies him as William Anderson, age 37, boss," said Cho.

"A P.I., huh?"

"Right. Apparently the retired lady across the street heard two shots at around 4am, and called 911. When the ambulance got here, he was already dead."

Lisbon squatted down and looked more closely at the man on the ground. "Handsome," she muttered to herself as she took in a strong build, jet-black hair just starting to go gray, and large dark eyes that vacantly stared at nothing. "So we found his wallet?" she asked aloud.

"Yes," said Cho. "It was still in his inside coat pocket, money and credit cards untouched. Rules out robbery as a motive, at least."

"I'd say so," she agreed. "Does anything appear to be missing?"

"Where are his glasses?" said Jane as he drew up to the scene.

"Glasses?" asked Cho, before Lisbon could say a word.

"Yes, glasses," repeated Jane. He leaned over and pointed. "There's a slight indentation on his temple there that shows he wore glasses with frames just a touch too small."

"The only thing like that we've found so far was a pair of sunglasses over by that dumpster, boss," said Rigsby, joining them. "And they can't be the ones. Who wears sunglasses at 4am?"

"Almost nobody," said Lisbon. "Keep looking, guys." Cho and Rigsby nodded and walked away. In the quiet that followed, she noticed an odd sound, just on the edge of hearing. Jane opened his mouth to speak, but she held up a hand. "What's that soft clicking noise?"

Jane shrugged, and they both began walking further down the alley. As they did, the clicking became louder and louder, until they felt as if they were right on top of whatever it was. Lisbon couldn't see anything for the mud, but Jane did.

Pulling out his handkerchief, he reached down and used it to pick up a small plastic cube. One squeeze, and the clicking stopped. "Look at this, Lisbon!" he cried almost gleefully. "I thought these were still only experimental!"

"What are?" Lisbon asked, but got distracted as Cho and Rigsby returned. "Is the victim from around here?" she asked.

"No, his home address puts him at least half an hour away," Cho said.

"Okay, then I want the surrounding streets searched until his car is found," Lisbon said.

"That won't be necessary, Lisbon; he didn't drive here." Jane piped up.

"How can you be so sure?" she griped, crossing her arms impatiently.

"Because I think it's safe to say that our victim probably never drove anywhere in his life," he answered. "You see this?" he asked then, holding up the small plastic cube once again. "This is a personal sonar device. The regular measured clicking helps create a sound picture of the world around the person who's carrying it. The _blind_ person who's carrying it, usually."

"You can't be serious," Lisbon blurted. "You're trying to tell me that our murder victim is a blind private eye?"

**TBC… fyi, New Canaan is a fictitious place, and is not meant to represent a real suburb in any area of the state of California.**


	3. More Answers, More Questions

**Disclaimer: Any organizations, locations, and/or characters that you recognize do not belong to me.**

**A/N: This is a case-heavy chapter, but there will still be some character-centered personal interactions. I don't want either plot to be the excuse for the other in this fic, so I'm attempting to give them both the chance to stretch as the story continues. I hope you enjoy the progress!**

**Pauses in Solitude**

**Chapter 2: More Answers, More Questions**

"**Some things are so unexpected that no one is prepared for them."**

**Leo Rosten**

The team had split up, briefly. Lisbon had gone out beyond the yellow tape and called Van Pelt to direct her actions once she arrived in New Canaan. Once she got off the phone, Lisbon headed back to the alley.

Jane, Cho and Rigsby hadn't moved very far from the positions where she'd left them. The medical examiner was writing his last notes, and the body of William Anderson was being covered in preparation for removal from the scene.

"All right," said Lisbon, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Let's get organized. I've already sent Van Pelt to arrange for our lodgings at the motel and to set up her workstation there. Right now we don't know very much, so we need to work with what we do know. And every new piece of information we uncover is getting immediately relayed to Van Pelt for further research, understood?"

"Absolutely, boss," said Rigsby, and Cho nodded in agreement.

"Good. Cho, what did you find out about Anderson's P.I. license? Was he an independent?"

"No, boss," said Cho. "I ran his registration number; he's affiliated with McKay's Detective Agency."

"_The_ McKay's Detective Agency?" Lisbon asked, surprised. Cho nodded.

"You make it sound so significant," Jane said, evidently curious.

"McKay's is the oldest, biggest, and most well-connected private detective agency in Sacramento, Jane," said Lisbon. "At times they've outnumbered the entire city of Sacramento police force, and the word is they're harder to get a job with," she added in an undertone.

"So you're wondering how our victim got in, and why they hired a blind man," Jane concluded.

"A little bit, yeah," Lisbon admitted. "Cho, Rigsby, I want you to go talk to Amos Finley; he's the current 'official law enforcement liaison' at McKay's." She thought for a moment, and then added "Don't let him give you the runaround, either; I worked with Amos briefly back in San Francisco P.D. before he went private, and the man can talk for 2 hours solid without saying a word."

"Right," said Cho, as he and Rigsby walked off to their SUV to head out.

"And while they're doing that, what are you and I going to do?" asked Jane.

"We're going to go talk to the woman across the street. The one who heard the gunshots this morning."

###

**McKay's Detective Agency, near Southside Park, downtown Sacramento**

"I'm certain I'll be happy to do _anything_ I can to help the CBI in its inquiries," said Amos Finley in an oily tone. He was sitting in a large leather recliner in his rather untidy office; Cho and Rigsby each had a place on opposite ends of a black couch facing him. "McKay's prides itself in a long-standing tradition of cooperation with law enforcement in Sacramento."

Cho eyed him suspiciously, but all he said was "Right. Our team lead Agent Teresa Lisbon said you'd be very helpful."

"Teresa Lisbon?" asked Finley in an entirely different voice. "Why didn't you say so? What kind of world would it be if I couldn't come across for an old friend, after all? I assume you want to talk about Will Anderson's murder, then."

"Exactly," said Rigsby. "How did you hear about it so quickly?"

Finley chuckled. "How did you hear about it?" he asked in turn. "We probably have a few of the same sources, Agent Rigsby, but I won't tell if you won't."

"Never mind, then," said Cho. "Tell us about Anderson personally."

"Will? Good guy," Amos Finley said. "Smart, sharp dresser, no real vices. And I mean none, too; he didn't smoke, barely drank, never gambled and always treated women with respect."

"Doesn't really sound like a man someone would murder," said Rigsby.

"We didn't think so, either. It's a bit of a shock, to tell you the truth."

Privately noting that last remark, Cho went on. "We know he was blind. We found his sonar device and the notation on his state ID. How does a blind man become a private investigator?"

"Same way anybody else does," Finley said with a shrug. "He decided he wanted to become a P.I., took the exam and passed."

"Okay, how does a blind man who's passed his exam get hired by McKay's?" asked Rigsby.

"Ah, that's the important question," said Finley. "We don't take just anybody, Agent. But Anderson was sharp, **very** sharp. Good memory, too, plus a built-in advantage."

"An advantage?"

Finley nodded. "Oh, sure. You see, nobody bothers a blind man sitting in a park. Nobody hassles a blind man in a waiting room or a hotel lobby or a restaurant. Will could get in just about anywhere, and most of the time people would hold the door open for him. He could remember everything he heard, and he heard almost everything that was said. Phenomenal at gathering information; a real asset on any assignment we used him."

"I guess I never looked at it that way," Rigsby said, without thinking.

"Yeah, most people don't," Finley replied. "But we did. And never had any reason to… regret our speculation, shall we say," he said with a smile. But that same smile faded just as quickly as it'd come. "His death is a tragedy. It's not just a personal loss, agents, though he was my friend; he'll be missed professionally around here, too. Any help we can give to catch who killed him, we will."

"Thank you for that," said Cho. "One last question: what was Anderson's last investigative assignment?"

Amos Finley shook his head for a moment. "That's privileged information, Agent Cho, and under normal circumstances I wouldn't give it out without a warrant."

"What about under today's circumstances?"

Finley sighed, and walked over to his desk. He sat down and punched a few passwords into his computer. "Okay, it says here that Anderson's last assignment was with the Federated Council for the Blind. You need anything more specific than that, you'll have to come back with a court order."

"We'll get one," said Cho, as he and Rigsby got up to leave. "In the mean time… thank you for your help."

"You're welcome," said Finley, opening his office door. "Do us all a favor and nail the bastard who did this," he added softly as they walked past.

###

Lisbon stopped at the gate leading up to the simple ranch house belonging to Mrs. Waters, the elderly woman who had made the first 911 call. It was small, and blue, and neat. Apart from a vigorous climbing rose on one side of the doorway and a rocking chair on the porch, it was completely innocent of any personal touches on the outside. That surprised her, since she knew from Cho's briefing that the woman had lived in the house for some time.

"It does look a bit more like a show house than an actual lived-in home, doesn't it," said Jane, reading her expression as he followed Lisbon's purposeful stride up to the walkway. They climbed the few steps up to the porch, and Lisbon knocked on the front door. After a moment, an older woman with a deep frown answered it. "Who are you?" she asked them.

"Mrs. Waters? I'm Agent Teresa Lisbon of the California Bureau of Investigation, and this is Mr. Patrick Jane. We're looking into the death that occurred in the area early this morning, and we'd like to ask you a few more questions."

Mrs. Waters looked them over. "_Mister_ Jane?" she asked. "Not Agent or Sergeant or Officer Jane? Just 'Mister'?"

Jane smiled winningly at her. "That's right, Mrs. Waters. I'm not a policeman; I'm a consultant."

Mrs. Waters snorted. "Then you can wait outside on the porch while Agent Lisbon interviews me _again_. I don't talk to strange men."

Biting back a laugh, Lisbon tried to reassure her. "Mr. Jane is my partner in interviews, ma'am, and I'd really prefer to have him along. Besides, I know you spoke to my colleague Agent Cho earlier this morning, and he's a man."

The older woman shrugged. "That Korean fellow? Yes I did, and answered his questions too, because he's official. I never refuse to talk to official people; it makes them suspicious and they bother you even more. But I'm not talking to a consultant busybody. He can wait on the porch and you can come inside, or you can both leave right now. Those are the options."

Lisbon glanced over at Jane, who shook his head. "I'll have a seat in the rocking chair and wait for you, Lisbon," he said, apparently deciding that arguing was pointless in this case. That surprised her; she'd expected him to put up more of a fight.

"Good," said Mrs. Waters. "Now that's settled. Come in, Agent Lisbon, and ask me what else you could possibly want to know."

###

Inside, the house was still sparsely decorated. Lisbon looked around in vain for any framed photographs or media collections, but each room she was led through was minimally furnished, and all in white.

They came to the living room, and Mrs. Waters motioned for Lisbon to have a seat. She sat down gingerly in the snow-white armchair, and gathered her thoughts for a moment. "I think for my own best understanding I'd like to start from the beginning," said Lisbon. "Where were you when you heard the shots?"

Mrs. Waters gave her an odd look. "In my bed, Agent Lisbon. It was four in the morning."

"Yes, of course," said Lisbon, feeling slightly foolish. "So it woke you up, and you telephoned the police."

"Yes. I used to live in a much… livelier neighborhood, where gunshots weren't that uncommon. But it's the first time I've heard them since I moved to New Canaan, so you can bet I took notice."

Lisbon nodded. "I know you've stated that you never left your house, though you watched from your windows until the police arrived. Did you see or hear anything else before they got here?"

Mrs. Waters shook her head. "No, nothing… wait. There _was_ something, I think. The sound of a car driving off very quickly. I guess it didn't really register at the time; I was still half-asleep. But there was definitely someone driving away very fast not too long after the two shots." She shook her head again in frustration. "Sorry, that's all I can remember; I can't imagine that it helps very much."

"More information is always helpful, ma'am," Lisbon reassured her. "Especially when it could very likely relate to a murder."

###

"Would you like a cup of tea, Agent Lisbon?" Mrs. Waters asked kindly, once every detail of the night before was revisited to the best of her memory. She had just poured herself a cup, and the teapot hovered in the air with the question.

"Oh no, ma'am, I should get going," Lisbon said quickly. She paused, and then asked what had been nagging at her since she'd first gotten there. "Forgive me for asking, but how long has your husband been gone, Mrs. Waters? I don't see any photographs of him anywhere."

"Husband?" Mrs. Waters asked with a puzzled expression. "Oh no, I never married. I just adopted the 'Mrs.' so no one would ask awkward questions when I moved here alone. They could assume I was a respectable widow and leave me in peace."

"So there never was a 'Mr. Waters', then?"

"Not at all. I don't really care for men, Agent Lisbon, as you may have realized by now. They're a difficult group on the whole."

"Tell me about it," Lisbon mumbled, as she glanced through the window to where Jane was still seated on the porch.

Mrs. Waters followed her gaze. "Ah, I see you understand from first-hand experience. That one does look a bit like trouble on two legs, though he's charming in a damaged sort of way. One of the worst kinds. Good luck."

"What?" Lisbon sputtered, caught off-guard. "No, no, not him and me. We're just partners. And friends too, but that's all. We don't… we wouldn't… work out beyond that."

"And that bothers you, does it?" the older woman asked. "Well, whatever anyone tells you, it isn't your fault. While it's completely true that many men are very attractive, most of them are also stupid," she said flatly. Lisbon watched the teacup shake slightly in the old woman's hand, before she put it down and continued. "And very few of them are kind."

Lisbon didn't really have a response to that, and was too flustered to even make a repeat denial.

###

Lisbon left the house in a thoughtful frame of mind, though a lot of it had very little to do with the case. Jane fell into step behind her as she walked back to the SUV. "Didn't have much to add to the statement she gave Cho, hmm?" he asked.

"Not very much, no," she admitted as she opened the door and climbed in. "Just that there was a sound of a vehicle leaving the neighborhood very fast after the shots but long before the police arrived."

"No surprises there," Jane said as the engine turned over and they started driving away. "We know Anderson didn't drive himself to that alley. Whoever killed him undoubtedly gave him a ride first."

"So what did you do on the porch besides rock the time away?"

"I spent the time considering our elderly informant," he replied. "Obviously a man hater, though still rational enough about it to make exceptions for the law. That and the rest of her demeanor say to me that she was jilted badly in her youth, and chose to never forgive it. I guess I can't fault her on lack of conviction; it's obviously been decades since it happened, and she's still going strong."

"That's sad," said Lisbon. "Just because one person is rotten doesn't mean everybody is. What a shame to lose out on the possibility of happiness forever because of one choice that went wrong…" She realized what she was saying, and more importantly who she was saying it to, and trailed off.

"It's all right," Jane said. "I know you weren't talking about me." He reached over and gently touched her arm. "Go on."

"No, that was all I had to say," she said with a shake of her head. "Just that it was sad to let one bad thing rattle you for the rest of your life. But I don't really know what happened to her, do I? I guess by now I should know better than to judge."

###

They reached the town's only motel quickly, and Van Pelt was standing outside waiting for them. "Hi, boss, Jane," she said brightly as they walked up. "Everything's all set with the rooms; luckily this place is big enough so we can each get our own."

"Thanks, Van Pelt. Your workstation is all set up, too?"

"Yes, ma'am," Van Pelt answered with a nod. "And I've already been in touch with Cho and Rigsby after they finished their interview at McKay's back in the city. Apparently he was very cooperative after Cho dropped your name."

"Good," said Lisbon, smiling briefly. "Any leads through him?"

"Well, he did tell them what the last job Will Anderson had with the agency was: the Federated Council for the Blind. I'm pulling up further information on their history and current programs."

"Very good. Keep on it, because I doubt Amos told the guys _what_ Anderson was working on for them," Lisbon said. "While we work on the court order for the records, get a clearer idea of their recent activities as an organization. I want to know why they needed a P.I."

"Right, boss," said Van Pelt, and went back inside.

"So where are our rooms?" Jane asked, speaking up for the first time since they'd arrived.

"Let's go in and look," Lisbon replied.

The motel was larger than it looked from the outside. It was on a long lot, rather than a wide one, so the main hallway of rooms extended out to the back. Lisbon and Jane stopped at the desk for directions, and then navigated around to where the rooms were.

"All right, Jane," Lisbon said. "According to the room numbers Van Pelt texted me, it goes Cho, Van Pelt, you, and then Rigsby on this side of the hall. Right in a line."

"Wait, I'm between Wayne and Grace?" Jane asked with a brief grimace.

"Yes," she replied. "What's the problem?"

He was silent for a moment, and she could see he was wrestling with whether or not he should reveal a piece of information. "Nothing."

"Okay, that 'nothing' never actually means nothing with you, Jane. Spill," she ordered.

"It's not important," he said. "But if I'm going to be stuck in the room between Rigsby's and Van Pelt's, I just hope they'll keep their raucous love-making to a minimum."

"JANE!" Lisbon cried.

"What? I didn't say they couldn't have ANY; I'm not that heartless. I just said I hope they keep it to a minimum!"

"Jane, they broke up two years ago. Grace almost married another man-"

"Who she did **not** marry and instead had to shoot because he turned out to be Red John's friend."

"And Wayne has a child with another woman-"

"Who he was never truly in love with and now isn't even in a relationship with. They're bound together by their love for their son, not each other."

"Jane," Lisbon said. "I'm not going through this again. I'm not getting thrown to the wolves with another boss because the agents on my team can't keep it professional. I get enough of that with you," she added with a glare.

"Oh Lisbon, that's not entirely fair," he chided.

"No it isn't fair, to me! God, why did you have to tell me this? I can't believe those two…"

Jane watched her face closely for a minute, and then grinned. He could always tell her real irritation and anger from the official show she put on. "All right, boss," he said with a wink. "Forget I said anything. Sometimes the person in charge of any group needs to know when she doesn't need to know something. Stick your head in the sand, if it makes you feel better."

"Sometimes it does," Lisbon shot back. "I'm forgetting this part of the conversation, and any sleeping arrangements mentioned therein."

"As you wish," Jane said. His hand settled briefly at the small of her back as they kept walking down the hall. "Speaking of sleeping arrangements, where's your room?"

Lisbon turned to stare at him, and stifled a laugh at the rakish look he gave her. Still, she had little problem handling the occasional light flirtation from him, especially as a break in more serious matters. An eyebrow rose as she stepped away and answered, "Down the first side hall there, second door on the right. See you at dinner, Jane."

**TBC… **


	4. Strangers and Friends

**Disclaimer: If I owned it… well, it doesn't matter. I don't.**

**A/N: Sorry for the long delay in posting; real life intervened, as I was afraid it would. I'd like to take a moment to say an extra-special thank you to all of the "Guest" reviews I have been receiving for this story. I can't reply to them in PMs, but I want to say how much I appreciate them. They are a terrific source of motivation! **

**On to more case development. Further interviews occur, as well as another late-night conversation between Jane and Lisbon. Note: this chapter includes some language, and mentions of alternative lifestyles addressed in a matter-of-fact way (in keeping with their treatment on the show).**

**Pauses in Solitude**

**Chapter 3: Strangers and Friends**

"**Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light."**

**Helen Keller**

The following morning after breakfast, the team went over again what they'd found out so far. But when Lisbon asked about the victim Anderson's last assignment, Rigsby frowned.

"Boss, there's a problem with that," he said. "The warrant for the information on Anderson's last P.I. job was delivered to McKay's hours ago, and we still haven't gotten the records from them."

"Damn," said Lisbon. "I knew Finley was going to stall. Looks like I'm going to have to deal with him personally." She frowned, and pulled out her phone. "What's his direct line again?"

Cho handed her the business card he'd taken from Finley's desk the day before, and she punched in the number. As she walked away towards her motel room the team heard her begin with "Amos? Teresa Lisbon here," in her strictest tone.

"Sounds like he's going to get an earful," whispered Van Pelt. Rigsby and Cho nodded in agreement, but Jane only smiled.

###

"Amos? Teresa Lisbon here," Lisbon said as she walked into her room, shutting the door behind her.

She could hear the grin on the other end of the line when Finley replied, "Why, 'Saint' Teresa Lisbon! Fifteen years and your voice hasn't changed a bit. Although I'm sure you're even more lovely than the last time I saw you," he continued.

Lisbon remembered Finley's imposing height, serious gray eyes and perpetual buzz cut. How could someone who looked all business still effortlessly spew such sheep dip? "Cut the crap, Amos," she grumbled. "I know you got that warrant for Anderson's last job. Why are you giving my boys a hard time? We need that information ASAP."

"Sorry, Teresa, but rules are rules. We can't just instantly send you everything we have-"

"Why not?"

His voice became strained. "Teresa, _please_, listen to reason! If our private clients thought their information could be compromised in any way… well, McKay's wouldn't be in business much longer, I can tell you that for sure."

She rolled her eyes. "All right, I get it. But the official step was taken. So now why don't you tell me, _just me_, what the Federated Council for the Blind needed a private eye for."

"Officially you still have to wait… but just between us, Teresa, someone was cooking the books and the trustees found out."

Lisbon was puzzled. "Embezzlement?"

"Definitely, but the neatest job of it their accountant ever saw. They knew someone was stealing, but they couldn't figure out whom. So Will went in undercover, acting as though he wanted to take advantage of the Council's services. Once inside, he started meeting everyone and gathering information. He seemed to be getting pretty close, too; he told us that he'd prepared a detailed report only the day before the murder."

"Did he name anyone specifically as the embezzler when he spoke to you?" Lisbon asked, noticing that she'd begun to pace back and forth in her motel room.

"No, unfortunately. And the report still hasn't turned up either," Finley went on. He sighed heavily. "I'd say your best bet would be to talk to George Phillips, the head administrator. He'd know everybody and everything Will dealt with while he was there."

"Okay then, I'll be paying him a visit shortly. Thank you."

"You're welcome," he replied. "So, now that's out of the way: you seeing anybody these days, Teresa?"

Lisbon smiled, a little ruefully. "Who has time for that, Amos? I'm working 60 hours a week on average."

"Aww, that's sad. You need a life outside of work. Maybe settle down with a good man, raise a couple of kids… you know, normal people stuff. Doing nothing but fighting crime isn't good for you."

She became a little defensive. "Hey, is it my fault that since I became an adult, the only men that have been serious about me in any way already had rings on their fingers?"

A pause. "Ah, Sam Bosco, bless his memory. A good man, even if he had his own way of dealing with certain things back in San Francisco. And never stepped out on Mandy, even through carrying a torch for you. I still think about him sometimes."

"Yeah," mumbled Lisbon in unhappy agreement. "Me too."

"But hang on, you said 'men', _plural_? You got another married man sniffing around you?"

She cleared her throat. "Not exactly," she said, very deliberately trying not to even think about Jane. "It's complicated, Amos. As usual."

"I seem to remember asking you to run away with me to the Caribbean a long time ago. That offer still stands, you know."

She smirked in response. "Oh really? I won't say it isn't tempting, but I wonder what **your** husband would have to say about that, Mr. Finley," she teased.

"One look at you, beautiful, and I'm sure he'd understand."

Lisbon laughed out loud then, a real, full-bellied laugh with nothing held back. "How is Doug, by the way?" she asked.

"He's doing good. Just retired from the Air Force, actually."

"You're kidding. There's one man I always thought would die with his flight suit on."

Finley chuckled. "You aren't the only one. But I finally convinced him that civilian life had its perks, too."

"I'm glad to hear it," she said with a smile. After a deep breath, she sighed. "It's nice talking to you, Amos. It's been way too long."

"Well now, there's no rule anywhere that said you HAD to be a stranger when we both left SFPD."

"I know. Things just worked out that way, I guess."

"I know how it is. Work, relationships, they kind of crowd people out sometimes, and you lose track of each other. But it's easily remedied, right? You want to grab dinner with me and Doug some evening?"

"Yes actually, I really would. I'll be in touch once this case is cleared up, I promise," said Lisbon, and was privately surprised at how seriously she meant it.

"Sounds fine to me. Good luck with this case, Teresa," said Finley.

"Thank you; at this point I feel like we can use all the luck we can get. Goodbye, Finley."

"Goodbye, friend."

###

The team were conversing quietly in the motel's lobby when Lisbon came back, her "all business" expression firmly in place. They looked expectantly at her.

She took a deep breath, and then began. "Okay. It took a little… persuasion, but Finley came through with a tip for us before the official records are released," she said. She pointedly ignored Jane's suppressed chuckle. "Apparently the trustees for the Council for the Blind had solid evidence of embezzlement, but couldn't figure out who was the culprit. Our victim, Anderson, was brought in undercover to see what he could find out."

"So we're going with the assumption that whoever was stealing figured out why Anderson was there and killed him, boss?" asked Cho.

"It seems like the simplest explanation to me," said Lisbon. "So that's the direction we're going to work first. We're still paying close attention to anything else that surfaces, however. Van Pelt, tell me what else you've found out about our victim."

Van Pelt frowned before answering. "Anderson was a pretty quiet, kept-to-himself kind of guy in his personal life, boss. I confirmed his address, located a sister in town, and found one mention of a neighbor, Paul Moore, that he was known to spend time with on occasion. There's not much else."

Lisbon nodded. "All right. However straightforward this may wind up being in terms of motive, right now this case is pretty twisted and we need better resources to work with. Rigsby, I want you to make the drive back to the CBI and transfer a few more pieces of our equipment; here's a list. I'm not depending on a less-than-optimal set-up if we're going to be here for a while."

"Right, boss," Rigsby answered, and started getting ready to leave.

"Cho, Van Pelt? I want you to go interview that neighbor. See if he can give any further insight into our victim's life: other friends, enemies, talk about work. Anything, okay?"

"Absolutely," Van Pelt said. She and Cho followed Rigsby out of the motel shortly after.

"Jane, you and I are going to go talk to George Phillips," she said, turning to him last of all. "He's the head admin at the Council for the Blind facilities, according to the information I squeezed out of Finley."

Jane nodded without saying anything, and followed her out to her SUV. It wasn't until they were both buckled in and ready to go that he spoke. "You fraud," he said in an undertone. "You and Finley are old friends and I bet he rolled over with hardly a murmur of protest."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Lisbon. She tried to make her face carefully blank, but the twinkle in her eyes gave her away. Jane smirked.

"Don't worry, I won't tell the team," he continued. "They need to have a little fear of you yet, right? Is that what they taught you in those 'management and leadership' weekends?"

"Shut up, Jane," she replied, and turned the key in the ignition.

###

**Blue Lagoon Condominiums, West Sacramento**

"Is this the building?" Cho asked Van Pelt, as they pulled up to a block of condominiums painted in a truly hideous shade of turquoise.

Van Pelt squinted at the large sign, and checked the street number against her notes. "Yep, this is the place. Anderson lived in 701-A; Paul Moore is in 701-D."

"All right, let's go in," said Cho, parking the SUV. He and Van Pelt went through the glass door in front, and gained entrance to the rest of the building fairly quickly once they flashed their badges.

After a long ride in a slow elevator, they exited at the seventh floor. 701-D was just down the short hall, and Cho knocked heavily. "Who is it?" came a puzzled and tired-sounding voice from the other side of the door.

"Paul Moore?" Van Pelt called.

"Yes?"

"This is the CBI," said Cho. "We have a few questions about Will Anderson."

There was a pause, and then they heard the click of the lock. A tall man with dark brown eyes and skin came into view. He was wearing a wrinkled blue bathrobe and bright white socks, and looked a little disoriented. "Will Anderson?" he repeated. "I thought he was dead."

"He is, Mr. Moore," said Van Pelt patiently. "But we need a little more information. I'm Agent Van Pelt, and this is Agent Cho. May we come in?"

"Sure, I guess," Paul Moore said. "The place is a mess, sorry. I'm home sick from work, so I'm not being real tidy."

"Yeah, I see that," said Cho frankly as he stepped inside and took in the clutter. Van Pelt swept a newspaper clear from a small sofa, and they both took a seat on it. "Can you tell us about Anderson?" Cho asked. "What kind of neighbor he was, his habits, that sort of thing?"

Moore shrugged as he flopped down into a kitchen chair. "Will was kind of quiet, real busy with his detective work. We lived down the hall from each other, but I didn't see him too often."

"You weren't really friends, then?" interjected Van Pelt.

"Sure, we were friends," Moore said. "We'd hang out maybe twice a month, have a couple beers, watch the game… well, I'd watch, he'd listen, of course. We didn't talk a whole lot," he said with another shrug. "All his work is confidential, and I'm a railroad mechanic. We grew up in different parts of the country, me as an only child and him from a big family. We didn't have much in common, but he was a good guy," he continued, but broke off to sneeze loudly.

"Everyone says he was quiet," Cho confirmed. "Did he have any close friends that you know of?"

"Oh sure," Moore said with a nod. "There was this one guy who was over at least once a week, and usually 2 or 3 times. Not real tall, glasses and a beard, named Kay Maxwell. I know because he watched the game with us a couple times. They were together a lot."

"Was Anderson romantically involved with this man, do you think? Is that why they spent so much time together?" asked Van Pelt.

Moore sneezed again, and dabbed at his nose with a tissue. "Ma'am, I don't _know_ if Will was gay," he answered in an exasperated tone. "It's none of my business, right? If you're asking whether that's how the relationship looked from what I saw? No. But I don't know anything that personal about either of them."

"One more question, Mr. Moore, and then we'll let you rest," said Cho. "Do you know where Kay Maxwell lives?"

"Yeah, I do. We're on Pine Avenue, right? Well one block over is Elm, and there's a yellow house right on the corner," Moore said. He stood, and walked over to the window. "You can actually see it from here. That's where he lives."

"Thank you for your help, sir," Van Pelt said, as she and Cho got up to leave. She smiled kindly when she added, "I hope you feel better soon."

Moore waved them out with a hand full of tissues. "So do I. Goodbye."

###

**The Federated Council for the Blind, New Canaan satellite offices**

"Thank you for seeing us on such short notice, Mr. Phillips," said Lisbon, as she and Jane were ushered into the head administrator's personal office. He was already sitting behind his desk, and the sunlight from the window opposite alternately glinted off his bald head and his small round spectacles.

"You're very welcome, Agent Lisbon, although…" here Phillips paused, and looked at her over the top rim of his glasses. "You didn't give me much choice in the matter."

"I know, sir, and I'm sorry if I came across as a little 'forceful' to your secretary. But this is a murder investigation; time is an important factor, and we take our work extremely seriously."

Phillips nodded. "There's no question of that, of course. Well, I'll help in any way that I can."

"We appreciate it, truly," said Lisbon. "What can you tell me about Will Anderson?"

"Will was a remarkable man," answered Phillips. "The first time he came, he was completely confident in his dealings and interactions with everyone. That's unusual. Often when people first reach out to the Council for help, they're not quite as… at ease with the world as Will was."

"Did he fit into the organization anyway?" Lisbon asked.

"Oh yes," said Phillips. "Will was well-liked and set a great example for people who felt trapped by their blindness. He was well-suited to our purposes."

"What exactly is the Federated Council for the Blind's main purpose?" asked Jane.

Lisbon barely controlled the urge to kick him. The last thing she needed was for this conversation to go off on a long-winded tangent. Luckily, Phillips seemed less eager to speak about his work than he was to get them out of his office.

"We serve a number of functions, Mr. Jane," said Phillips with a tight smile. "Most of which are outlined in detail in our literature, available in the outer office where you first came in. We provide much-needed assistance, in a diverse number of ways, to the blind community of the entire Capital district of the state of California, although most of our focus tends to be on the greater Sacramento area."

"Were you made aware that Anderson was essentially a plant?" asked Lisbon, eager to steer the conversation back. "That he had been hired to go undercover in this organization to investigate claims of embezzlement?"

Phillips frowned, and shook his head. "No, Agent Lisbon, that wasn't revealed to me until the day after we heard he'd been killed. Apparently, the trustees weren't certain that I wasn't the thief, so I was kept in the dark as well."

"That must have been very frustrating for you," said Jane. "Finding out that your job doesn't think you're trustworthy."

Phillips sighed. "Nobody likes to be thought of as dishonest, Mr. Jane," he replied.

"Especially dishonest people," countered Jane. "What was it about Anderson personally that you didn't like, Mr. Phillips?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Phillips exclaimed.

"Come on, you don't have to lie to us. He's dead; the truth can't hurt his feelings anymore. Was it the fact that he was so independent, didn't need you in the same way as so many of the other clients that come here do?"

"Jane!" Lisbon whispered harshly, but Jane ignored her.

"Or was it the fact that once he set such a confident example, fewer and fewer of the lovely blind women with low self-esteem would let you take advantage of them?"

"Really, Agent Lisbon, I didn't agree to take this kind of abuse-" Phillips began.

"Your whole manner is giving you away, George," continued Jane. "Not to mention the wedding-ring tan line. Do you always take it off at work? I suppose it isn't hard for you to justify adultery to yourself, though, is it? The women are throwing themselves at you; all you have to do is catch, right?"

"Get out!" Phillips yelled. "Get out of my office! This interview is over!"

Lisbon held up her hands. "I apologize for my colleague, Mr. Phillips, but we do have a few more questions."

"If you both aren't out of my office in one minute, agent, I'm calling security."

"All right," said Lisbon, rising quickly from her chair and practically dragging Jane across the room with her to the exit. "This investigation is on-going, however, so we may need to contact you again."

"You can do so through my attorney," snapped Phillips. "Get out."

Lisbon exited the building with Jane trailing right behind her. They reached her SUV and climbed in. Both were silent for a moment, and then Lisbon cast Jane a sidelong glance. "Making friends. _Everywhere_ we go, you're just making friends, Jane," she muttered sarcastically.

"He's a self-righteous swine, Lisbon," said Jane. "And a dirty old man, to boot."

"Sometimes I think I should just stop taking you on interviews," Lisbon grumbled. "Maybe I'd get thrown out of a smaller number of them."

Jane grinned at her. "Come on, Lisbon, cheer up. Besides, you know everything I said was true."

"All I know," said Lisbon. "Is that getting any more information out of that organization is going to be like pulling teeth from now on." She paused and looked down as her phone buzzed with an incoming text from Rigsby, telling her he'd returned with the rest of their equipment. "Oh, and that when we get back to the motel, I'm climbing into a hot tub and I'm not speaking to you again until tomorrow when we go to see Lauren Anderson."

"Really? Not a word until we visit our victim's sister?" Jane asked.

She didn't answer him. The quiet settled between them as they drove out of the parking lot.

###

Lisbon was startled out of a sound sleep by a soft knock on the door of her room. She rubbed her eyes and grabbed her phone off the nightstand to check the time. 2:30 am? Only one person would disturb her at this hour, unless it was an emergency…

She peered through the peephole and sighed. Running her fingers through her hair distractedly, mostly just to get it out of her face, she fiddled in the dark with the lock. Once she'd opened the door, she tried to focus on her visitor. "What's going on, Jane?"

"Nothing," he said immediately. "I'm just bored."

Lisbon drew in a deep breath, ready to chew him out at full volume, but remembered how late/early it was. "At this hour? Why don't you try getting some sleep, like everyone else? Me included, just so you know, before you woke me up!" she spat out in a harsh whisper.

"Well, not _everyone_," he corrected her. The look in his eye made her blush slightly, which made her even more irritated.

"Rigsby and Van Pelt? Are they keeping you up?" she asked. "Because you need sleep more than they need… together time. I'll reprimand them in the morning-"

"No, no, don't do that," Jane interrupted. "It's really not their fault. They finished hours ago, and were fairly quiet in fact. I just can't sleep, Lisbon."

"I'm very sorry about that, Jane, but what do you expect me to do about it?" she asked, scowling.

"Well," he started, then trailed off. "There wouldn't happen to be a couch in your room, would there?" he asked softly.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "No, there isn't. And even if there **were**, it's not like it would be a good idea for you to come in and sleep on it. I can just imagine the stories that would circulate after someone saw you coming out of my room first thing in the morning!"

"You think those stories don't already circulate?" he asked with a grin. "You think half the CBI doesn't already suspect the two of us are 'more than partners'? Don't you listen to the rumor mill at all?"

Lisbon placed her hands on her hips. "No I don't, Jane, which is why I'm a more effective cop than you'd ever be. I don't waste my time on listening to stories that usually aren't true."

He smiled back. "I do, which is why I'm a better consultant than you'd ever be. I listen to it all, so I find out things that you never would without me."

"Yes, yes, fine," Lisbon said with a distracted wave. "The point is, we don't need to fuel the fire, so you can't stay in my room with me on out-of-town cases."

"I just… really can't sleep," he said again, in all seriousness. She watched the smile slip from his face, and cringed inwardly. –Soft on him,- she thought. –I'm getting way too soft on him. That won't help the rumors, either.-

She lifted a hand and placed it gently on Jane's right shoulder. "Do you have any of your strong sleeping pills with you? The ones you told me knock you out for 7 hours every single time?"

He looked down at her and nodded. "I always carry one," he said. "For an emergency, I guess."

"Well it's almost 3 in the morning now, and I think we can delay our interview with the victim's sister until 10:30, 11am tomorrow. Take your pill and get some sleep, Jane. I mean it." Her hand slid down his arm before she put it back on her hip.

Jane sighed. "All right. You might want to rethink getting a couch for your stay here, though," he said, peering over her head at the darkened room behind her. "It would make the place more comfortable."

"For you," Lisbon said, and rolled her eyes. "I'll consider it. Now, good night, Jane," she said, and gave him a gentle shove. He turned and walked back towards his own room.

**TBC…**


	5. Quick Tempered, Warm Hearted

**Disclaimer: I didn't get it for Christmas, so no.**

**A/N: Hope everyone who celebrates had an excellent holiday! Personally, I've had a very mixed month. Job stress and the sorrow of having to put down my elderly cat were the bad parts; being with my family for the holidays and seeing "The Hobbit" in the theater in IMAX 3D were the good. Here is the next installment: a bit of case development, a lot of Jane and Lisbon. I hope you enjoy.**

**Pauses In Solitude**

**Chapter 4: Quick-Tempered, Warm-Hearted**

"**Holding a grudge is like drinking poison, and then waiting for the other person to die." – Anonymous**

**West Sacramento**

"So do we know much of anything about this guy at all?" Rigsby asked Cho as he pulled the vehicle to a stop outside of a small yellow house. Lisbon had sent the two of them off early for their interview of Will Anderson's friend.

Cho shrugged and squinted into the morning sunshine. "We know what the neighbor Paul Moore told us," he said. "He lives here on Elm Avenue, his name's Kay Maxwell, and he spent a lot of time with Anderson. We're here to find out more."

Cho and Rigsby exited the car and began walking up the path. Stepping onto the stoop, Rigsby was about to knock loudly on the door when Cho held up a hand. They both listened, and heard a low-register electric humming coming from the backyard. Walking back down and around the yard, they saw a figure using a power trimmer on the hedges.

Kay Maxwell was a stocky blonde, but not very tall. He had, as Paul Moore mentioned, glasses and a close-cut beard. Cho raised his voice to be heard over the mechanical hedge cutter. "Sir, are you Kay Maxwell?"

Kay Maxwell looked up and nodded. One hand flipped the power switch on the trimmer as he stretched. "And who are you two?" he then asked in a rough whisper.

"I'm Agent Cho, and this is Agent Rigsby. We're with the CBI, investigating the murder of William Anderson that occurred a few days ago."

The frown on Maxwell's face deepened. "I figured someone would get around to questioning me sooner or later," he croaked.

"Are you all right, sir?" asked Rigsby. "You don't sound very good."

"Laryngitis," Maxwell said. "So if you could make your questioning brief I'd really appreciate it."

"We'll do our best," replied Cho, flatly. "Tell us about Will Anderson."

"Look, obviously since it's been a couple of days I'm not the first person you've talked to about him. What do you still need to know?"

"Anything, honestly," said Rigsby. "Nobody's been forthcoming with much personal information yet, either because they don't know or because… they do know and they don't feel like it."

Maxwell looked at him oddly, but finally answered. "Anderson was a good guy. He was my best friend, really. I moved here from back East earlier this year, and met him doing volunteer work at the Federated Council for the Blind."

"Do you do a lot of volunteer work?" asked Rigsby.

"Some," said Maxwell. "I work at home, so I need a regular reason to get out of the house. Otherwise you get isolated and weird," he continued in an undertone.

"Do you know why he went there?" asked Cho cagily. He wanted to know how close Anderson and Maxwell had been. Would Anderson have talked about his investigation assignment to his best friend?

"Why do blind people go to foundations created to help them?" Maxwell asked in turn, seeming confused at the question. "He wanted some more contact with the community, I guess. This way he could meet new people outside of work, who knew about his blindness from the start and wouldn't be awkward about it."

"Anderson was a plant," Rigsby cut in. Cho grimaced in frustration, but Rigsby just bluntly continued. "He was put there on an investigation to find out who was embezzling funds."

The surprise showed clear in Maxwell's face as the hedge clippers dropped from his hand. "I didn't… he didn't tell me anything about that. But he was careful about keeping job stuff confidential. He'd worked very hard to get his position as a P.I. with McKay's; he wouldn't do anything to put that in jeopardy."

Cho nodded. "Is there anyone you can think of who would want to hurt him? Problems at work, fights he mentioned, anything?"

"Look, I wish I could help you, all right?" Maxwell snapped. "But Will got along with everybody as far as I know. He was kind and honest, and never got into any heated arguments that I ever saw. He was the kind of guy who'd give almost anybody another chance. Why would anybody kill someone like that?"

"We're not sure, to tell you the truth. But we're working very hard to find out." Rigsby answered.

Maxwell crossed his arms and glared at them. "Then why don't you leave me alone and get back to it?" he asked hoarsely.

###

**Lauren Anderson's House, New Canaan**

"Jane, let me do the talking, alright?" Lisbon asked as they climbed the flight of steps up onto Lauren Anderson's porch. "This woman isn't a suspect or even a person of interest at the moment. She's the victim's sister, and I don't want any of your shenanigans for once."

Jane held up his hands in mock surrender. "One interview, shenanigan-free. You got it, ma'am," he replied with a wink.

Lisbon squeezed her eyes shut. –Hopeless,- she thought, and knocked on the front door.

After a moment, a pale and painfully thin brunette opened the door and peered out. "Yes?" she asked in a raw voice.

"My name is Senior Agent Teresa Lisbon, and this is Patrick Jane. We're from the CBI, and we're investigating the murder of William Anderson. Are you his sister, Lauren?"

"Yes, I am," the woman said with a nod. She was soft-spoken and seemed fairly calm, but the rough edge to her speech and her red eyes showed she'd been crying.

"I know this is a very difficult time for you, ma'am, but if you could answer a few questions it would really help us with this case. May we come in?" Lisbon asked gently.

"Of course," Lauren answered, and opened the door further to usher them in.

###

"Will was my younger brother, the baby of the family," Lauren began, after they had all settled into various articles of overstuffed living-room furniture. "I was seven when he was born."

"And he was born blind?" Lisbon asked.

"Oh yes, we knew almost immediately. It's not something that runs in the family, so it came as a bit of a shock to everybody. But our parents were very smart about it, and we all learned different ways of expressing ourselves as Will grew older." Lauren paused for a moment, and then sighed. "You have to be very brave every day of your life, when you're blind. The least we could all do was make some things in the world a bit less scary."

"He was your favorite, wasn't he," Jane interjected at this point in her speech. It wasn't a question.

Lauren looked over at him and nodded. "Yes, he was. My siblings and I get along fairly well, now that we're all adults, but Will and I were always close. I watched over him, and he cheered me up. Cheered us all up, honestly; he was really funny."

"Can you think of anyone who might want to hurt him?" Lisbon asked. It was a common question in interviews of this type, but one Lisbon always felt a little stupid asking. Obviously _someone_ wanted to hurt the victim, or they wouldn't be dead.

"I really don't know, Agent Lisbon," Lauren said, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue as her tears started again. "Being a private investigator has some danger to it, right? But he was always so very honest and law-abiding about his work. He kept scrupulously clear records, always made sure his license was current, and never lied or cheated to get information. You'd think that would have protected him, wouldn't you?"

"It's difficult to say," Lisbon answered tactfully. "Maybe somebody _dis_honest had trouble with your brother's methods. Had he received any threats of any kind recently?"

"Not that he mentioned to me," Lauren replied with a shake of her head. "Then again, even if he had he might have kept them to himself. He wouldn't want to worry me."

"Did he say anything at all to you about his latest job?"

Lauren frowned. "Nothing specific; he kept his assignments confidential. He did say it was a larger project than usual, and was going to involve some serious research work to get to the bottom of things." She sighed again. "I'm sorry that I can't be more helpful. But I can't tell you what I don't know."

"No, no, don't worry," Lisbon said. "Here's my card; please don't hesitate to get in touch with us if you think of anything else." She stood to leave, but Jane stayed seated.

Jane regarded Lauren Anderson thoughtfully for a moment. "Can I ask what you do for a living, Ms. Anderson?" he finally asked. Lisbon looked over at him, and raised an eyebrow. What did that have to do with anything?

Lauren also seemed confused, but answered anyway. "I work in the asset management department of Traders Trust Bank." More tears welled up as she went on. "I process paperwork for people who are going through foreclosures or bankruptcies. It's not a great job, but it's steady work that pays enough to live on. Not something you can say about every job in New Canaan."

"You don't need to lie to us. Will used to cheer you up about your job, didn't he? But you hate it all the same," Jane pressed.

"Of course I hate it! Wouldn't you?" Lauren answered in a brief flash of anger. "I **wish** I could just do my job and not think about it. But every name that passes through my hands on a mortgage is a real person who's losing his or her home. They signed this paper so full of hope, dreaming of a house of their own, maybe to raise a family in. And now I'm helping an institution take their dreams away," she finished brokenly.

Lisbon was speechless, but Jane went over and sat down next to the weeping Lauren. He placed a gentle hand on her arm, and began to speak soothingly as soon as she looked at him. "Lauren, I want you to listen to me. Working in foreclosures is not a good job for you, whatever the pay." Lisbon watched Lauren blink slowly and she began to grit her teeth; Jane really was never going to stop hypnotizing people on cases, was he? But she didn't interrupt him, anymore than she ever did.

Jane took a deep breath, and continued. "The world knocks down tender-hearted people like you, Lauren; you know that already. But you don't have to make yourself unhappy on top of it. You're going to quit that job, and find one better suited to your talents and temperament. Even if it takes you out of town. Your brother loved you. It wasn't your fault he was killed. It's time for you to stop punishing yourself."

Lauren closed her eyes and nodded. "Yes," she whispered, and Jane reached up and tapped her shoulder lightly. She jumped in her seat, then asked "I'm sorry, folks. Did I drop off?"

"Just for a moment, Lauren," Jane said soothingly. "It's perfectly understandable; you've had a hard couple of days. We'll let you get some rest now, won't we, Lisbon?"

"Yes, we will," she said quietly. They said their polite goodbyes to Lauren, but already Lisbon's mind was on the inevitable argument to come.

She was proud of herself that she managed not to immediately tear into Jane when they got into the SUV. –We'll talk about it, just not right this second,- she thought, but the frown on her face didn't go unnoticed.

"Penny for your thoughts, Lisbon?" Jane asked.

"Are you hungry?" she asked him, instead of answering. "Because I am. And Cho said they actually do a decent burger at that bar we saw driving in. What was it called, 'The Grindhouse' or something?"

###

**The Roundhouse Bar and Grill, outskirts of New Canaan**

It didn't take long to get there. The parking lot was filling up fast, however, so they were glad they'd come early. The gravel crunched beneath their feet as they walked from the SUV to the weather-beaten building with the faded "Roundhouse" sign on the front.

Once inside, they were quick to grab a table. "So, Lisbon, your thoughts?" Jane prodded after they'd each ordered a burger and a beer.

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "Come on, Jane, you don't really want to know what I think about what you do."

"Obviously I do, or I wouldn't have asked," he countered. "Out with it."

She sighed. "You know I don't like it when you hypnotize people-" she began, but he almost immediately interrupted.

"You said yourself she isn't a suspect, Lisbon," he argued. "Plus I didn't do it to extract information that will later prove legally unusable, which I know is your real objection in most instances."

"You have no _idea_ about my real objections in most instances, Jane, or if you do you don't _care_," Lisbon snapped. "Why can't you stop messing with people's heads?"

"Hang on, isn't that why I'm here? Why I'm so effective? Messing with people's heads is what I do, Lisbon," Jane replied. "It's practically my job description," he continued with a smirk.

That did it.

"That poor woman has lost her brother, the one she was closest to, on top of it. You're telling me you couldn't let your need to get into someone's head rest just once, not even out of pity?"

Jane looked confused. "Lisbon, did you actually listen to what I **said** to Lauren Anderson? I was being kind, helping her see that she didn't have to stay in a job she hated and for which she was ill suited. I was _helping_," he repeated.

"See, that's one of your problems, Jane, assuming you always know best," she said angrily. "But most adults don't want that kind of help unless they ask for it! You may think of it as some kind of benevolent guidance, but it's still just another form of manipulation."

He held up his hands for the second time that day. "I don't want to fight. If I apologize for the hypnosis session right now, will you accept it?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Not if you don't mean it. Lying to me will only make me more upset."

Jane exhaled sharply. "Since when have you been able to tell when I was lying?" he said, the challenge evident in his tone.

Lisbon began to get angry, the emotion fanned by fatigue and hurt feelings. "You can be genuinely mean sometimes, do you know that?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied. "I do."

For some reason, his candid response had a calming effect. She took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. "Good," she said. She took a long sip of her beer, and then sighed. "Why don't we change the subject? Do you have a theory about who murdered Anderson? Tell me who you think it is."

Jane's expression relaxed, and then reformed into his traditional know-it-all look. "It's Phillips, the head administrator at the Federated Council for the Blind. I'm positive."

Lisbon tried to contain a smile, and failed. "Oh really? That little older man who kicked us out of his office and looks like a skinny Santa Claus?"

"That would be him, yes. No doubt in my mind." Jane repeated.

"Okay, why him? Where did he get the gun? Where's the evidence_, _Jane?"

"Meh," he said with a dismissive wave of one hand. "So I don't know everything yet. I'm sure we'd find out if you'd arrest him."

"Hold on a second. Remember, I've got to have all those things before I can arrest anybody. That's a Constitutional right that protects everybody, even you."

"Always so by-the-book, Lisbon. Doesn't it get tiresome after a while, especially since I'm nearly always right?"

Lisbon's temper began to rise again. "Do we need to go into all the times I've granted you far-more-than-legal latitude? You've got a lot of nerve complaining about my 'sticking to the rules' to any degree."

"I know, and don't worry, Lisbon. I don't actually expect you to change completely. You wouldn't be you if you did," he said. He smiled slightly, and then continued, "I guess I just wish we could skip the arguments sometimes, and go right to the part where you go along with whatever I say."

"Keep dreaming," she snapped, and the volume of her words rose. "My boring tendency towards proper procedure is what keeps me in my job, and consequently you in yours. Let's not forget that you've made it so no one else will work with you," she added, and leaned toward him slightly for emphasis.

He did the same, the grin still on his lips. "Who got whose job back for her last time?"

"Whose outrageous plan made me lose my job in the first place?" she shot back.

"So, we need each other. That's not news, is it? So why do we still fight? Wouldn't it be easier if-"

"Easy doesn't always equal right, Jane. It'd be a hell of a lot easier for me to send you packing and go back to solving cases the old-fashioned way."

The smile fell from his face. "That's not true," he said seriously.

"Oh, I don't know. It'd be more grunt police work, but a lot less smoothing high-level ruffled feathers and dodging lawsuits."

Jane didn't fidget, but Lisbon could just see the agitation he was carefully masking. But all he countered with was, "You keep me around for a reason, Lisbon, and you can't deny that."

She shrugged. "I'm not denying it. I'm just wondering: when is that reason not going to be enough?"

###

After the second moderately intense blow up, Jane excused himself from the table. Lisbon nodded vaguely as he muttered the words "men's room" over his shoulder as he left. She'd had no plans to stop or follow him, even if he was leaving the building. Funny how these days, even when they were fighting in a loud bar in the tiny suburb of New Canaan, California… he didn't want her to worry.

Honestly, she wasn't worried. They weren't drunk. And she knew that since this wasn't a Red John case, he still had his wits about him. While they didn't always keep him from harm's way, there was far less chance for any real danger when Jane was paying attention.

Their waitress, who was young (possibly only just legal), had stood tactfully in the background up until this point. She now wandered over to collect their empty bottles. "Another round for you two?" she asked.

Lisbon cast a glance at Jane's still visibly retreating back. "No, thank you. I'd say we've had enough."

The waitress smiled. "If you're sure." She also looked at Jane, and the smile faltered a little. "You and your man fighting?"

"What?" Lisbon said, momentarily puzzled.

"He's a handsome one, too. Always the most trouble, aren't they?" the waitress continued.

"Oh," Lisbon said in understanding, then shook her head. "He's not 'my man'." She watched as the waitress' eyebrows rose in disbelief. "He's not. We're just close friends."

"The way you two were carrying on I thought you were married at first, especially when I saw a wedding band on him. But then again, you don't wear one…" The waitress left the statement dangling in the air, stopping short of flat-out accusing Lisbon of home wrecking.

Lisbon was silent for a moment, and then sighed. "He's a widower," she offered finally. "And we're just friends," she added, repeating herself.

The waitress shrugged. "If you say so," she replied politely. "What were you fighting about?"

Lisbon looked up at the young woman oddly. She sometimes forgot how curious small-town people were. If she and Jane had been arguing in a bar in Sacramento proper, the wait staff wouldn't have batted an eye. And they certainly wouldn't have gone out of their way to ask questions. Did the fight between Jane and her count as high entertainment here?

"Nothing you need to worry about," Lisbon said. She let her eyes flick to the nametag on the girl's chest, and added "No risk of property damage or danger to life and limb, Gail," for further reassurance.

Gail grinned. "I caught some of it, you know," she pressed. "You're here investigating that blind guy Anderson's death, right? And your man… I mean, your _friend_ thinks he's got all the answers and you're not so sure."

Lisbon gestured in a non-committal way. "We don't discuss ongoing investigations. But what you heard is what you heard."

Gail looked puzzled. "Do you ask him for more proof than his gut most of the time?"

Lisbon nodded. "All of the time. I'm a cop, that's my job."

"Then why's he upset this time?"

For the life of her, Lisbon didn't know what to answer. She had a few ideas, but nothing she wanted to share with a stranger. So she stayed quiet and shrugged.

Gail then smiled again. "Well, he's lucky he has you. Most women would've given up by now."

Lisbon sighed again, but she wasn't going to correct the girl a third time. "A lot of people have," she said instead.

"So why is he taking stuff out on you?" the young waitress asked.

Lisbon thought for a moment, and then gave the only reply she could. "When it comes to certain things, I'm kind of all he's got. Who else is he going to take it out on?"

###

Jane returned to their table, and eyed Lisbon warily as he sat down. "Still upset with me?" he ventured after a moment.

Lisbon stared back at him with raised eyebrows, and then sighed. "Not really. But you know me, Jane. I'm too lazy to carry a grudge."

He chuckled gently in response. "I guess that's one way to put it," he said with a smile.

"Let's get out of here," she said, cutting the line of conversation short. She pushed her chair away from the table, stood, and was halfway to the door before Jane registered the statement. Luckily, his longer legs made it easier for him to catch up to her. By the time she reached the SUV and started it, he was already opening the other door.

The moment Jane climbed in, he started fiddling with the radio. The first clear station he came to had an unfamiliar song playing, with an irregular rhythm and a strident male voice singing "_And it feels like I am just too close to love you…"_. He immediately spun the dial with a muttered "Ugh, I don't think so."

"Jane, what do you think you're doing?" Lisbon asked. "What's the rule we have about the radio?"

Jane seemed to ignore her as he continued to search. "Ah," he said with a smile when the first few notes of a bubbly song from the 70s came on. He leaned back in the passenger seat.

Lisbon listened for a couple bars, but then shook her head. "Nope," she said, and reached for the dial.

Quick as a shot, Jane's hand covered hers. "Leave it," he said. "I like this song."

Lisbon gave him a sidelong glance, but didn't move her hand. "My car, my music choice, Jane. Remember?"

He chanced a soft stroke of his thumb over the back of her hand. "Humor me."

She huffed impatiently, but drew back her hand without changing the station. Instead, she pressed the button that lowered her window. The cool breeze began to swirl her long dark hair about her face for a moment. Then it carried with it the strains of the chorus out of the window and into the afternoon, as they drove back to the motel.

"_You are the woman that I've always dreamed of, I knew it from the start. I saw your face and that's the last I've seen of my heart…"_

**TBC… song lyrics used are from "Too Close" by Alex Clare (one of the most apt J/L songs in reference to the end of Season 4, in my opinion) and "You Are the Woman" by Firefall**


End file.
